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Riverena Emberfell
αɳԃ I ʂԋαʅʅ αɳʂɯҽɾ ყσυɾ ƈαʅʅ I ηєє∂ α Ƒιgнт, ǀ'νє gσт уσυ ιη му ѕιgнтѕ. Mindscape There can be no Light without the Darkness, and without the Light - there is then no Darkness. One requires the other. Death may not reap his Due without living souls with which to thrust his Scythe upon. It is the simple fact and law of all known universes and worlds that there must always be an opposing Force, lest one grow far too powerful and eventually collapse upon itself, rendering all the power it earned and drew upon moot and Nothing. This is then, where she who bears the name of Grim Preceptor shatters these rules, for she has grown so terribly discontent with them. Yet so too might one say that she shall play right into the hands of those who control All Things - for if there is to be balance, then so too must there be imbalance. Where there are laws, there are law breakers. Where there are picturesque mortals, there are those with a Grand Vision of Conquest. If there is such a thing as Eternity, the Grim Preceptor is hell bent upon bending it to Her will, so she might outlive the universe and all of it's creation. Volatile optics look unto the tangible reality and nonexistent between-realm with an expression of disdain, or is it perhaps intrigue or even bemusement? What might a woman who believes herself to be a God feel, when she gazes upon the fleeting, skittering lives of mortals which she had grown discontent with in her own ambitions and sought to surpass them? Am I a God, or am I a Devil? Are they not one in the same? Within her hand she holds the entropic forces of chaos, and within the deepest recesses of her mind does she harbor a great loathing of all things which abide by rules they are in no control over. How can one Live if they do not Act? How can one follow such... Stagnation? There Must be Chaos, for without it, faux-perfection shall reign supreme, and All things shall eventually halt. There is no greater crime than Stagnation. There is no greater hedonism than the willful casting aside of progress. Epidermis If there is creation, there too must be destruction. Life cannot exist without death and vice versa. Should one learn to cheat both life and death, do they then become as Gods? Perhaps. Perhaps not. A lesson the Grim Preceptor learned during her journey to overcome the natural laws which bound her, was that even she could not fully ascend beyond Mortality. Stagnation had become Preceptor Emberfell's greatest enemy, and thus she seeks to overcome and rise above such notions as Perfection. She strives to perpetually improve and grow until the very end of Time itself. Although she has cheated the Deep and surpassed even the Reaper himself, she yet still cannot feels a certain attachment to the impression of Mortality. Death cannot claim her soul even if she leaves it to wander freely; however, such notions feel wrong, within her heart of hearts. Thus, the Grim Preceptor worms her Source infused being into the vessels of mortals, so she might walk the physical plane as she once had - when she was living. In appearance they all vary - yet so too does her crackling Soul leave an impression within and upon any body with which she usurps her way unto. In spite of the fact that Emberfell's true body has long since withered away and returned to the Soil, the manner by which she carries herself - regardless of skin worn and visage seen, in the same manner as she once had. Each vessel she infuses herself within bear tapered ears and pale skin the color of waning moonlight. Her eyes roar with the volatile energy which gives her Soul fuel, and the surface of her flesh might be seen buckling under the pressure of such a wretched being. In the end; however, the Grim Preceptor bears upon her shoulders a Sovereign Right of Existence, and all those who lay eyes upon her will recognize the Wretched Soul who has worn a hundred faces. There are a nigh infinite number of worlds and universes by which the Grim Preceptor can hand choose the bodies which shall become her future vessel, and there is a sickening pleasure in finding one which suits her twisted soul and blackened heart. Who had the Grim Preceptor been when she was first born, one might wonder. Had she been a Human? An Elf? A Halfling? Her original body sported a gaunted visage and elongated tusks which pressed between the crease of her mouth and extended outwards before curling skyward. Her eyes had been deep set and ringed in dark, purple colored bruises. Her skin had been harsh and rough, bearing little sign of the typical femininity of most races. She had lived beneath the surface as a Cave Dwelling Troll, and she harbored a Grand Vision unlike the rest of her brutish and unintelligent Kin. In her gambit for Immortality, she sought to warp her soul into something more akin to those who serve the High Chaos - malforming and twisting herself until not a shred of her original visage remained. Even through this forced Evolution and extended Longevity, the Grim Preceptor yet knew that she was still Mortal, and Death would eventually come to reap his Due. Eternity The Deep Order cared not for Emberfell's desires for Immortality. It cared for one thing, and one thing only. To protect the natural flow of Life and Death - to reap the souls of those who had perished and return them to the Void. The High Chaos looked upon Emberfell with disdain, for in her desire for Immortality had she sacrificed the lives of others in order to fulfill her own. Chaotic it might have been; however, it yet still ended with the loss of life, and thus a lowering of cosmic variables... Enforcing Order. Power flowed through her veins and descended upon the unsuspecting, wherein she learned to siphon and devour the lives of those she saw as being little more than steppingstones. Though this foul magic granted her an increased longevity, even she knew that her body would not last forever. Alongside this, such wanton use of energy thievery weakened the bonds of her soul, leaving it brittle and damaged. When the time came for her life to end, her Soul would simply cease to be... Consumed by the Deep Order and returned to the Void as was the fate of All Things. She refused to let such a fate befall her. And thus, when her Psychopomp came for her... She used the brittleness of her Soul to her advantage. An archaic device stored a large enough fragment of her Soul to be rebuilt, whilst the remaining sacrifice had been delivered right unto the Grim Reaper's blade. At the time of her Soul's Reaping, this device had been arraigned to be taken elsewhere - somewhere even the Gods themselves would not dare to show there faces, for there surely could be Nothing here... For an untold number of years this device drifted and traveled along the cosmos, and when finally it arrived upon the reaches of the Outer Night did it at last come to a halt. The fragment of her soul trapped within had been released, and with such a revival came her transformation from Mortal to Daemon I нαve вeαтeɴ yoυ, Cнαoѕ αɴd Order. No loɴɢer ѕнαll I ғeαr Deαтн, αɴd ɴo loɴɢer ѕнαll I ғeαr Sтαɢɴαтιoɴ Literature Pivotal Role • The Fool's Crossing • Give Yourself the Chance Side Role Journals • Outer Night • Relicta • Crossroads Summoning Trivia *Although Riverena Emberfell primarily exists within the Warcraft Universe, she has steadily outgrown the game's mechanics and; with the help of other talented writers, evolved into something greater. *Riverena Emberfell's hatred for Stagnation stems from my own personal discontent with the character after she had fulfilled her goal and had slowed down in terms of compelling story telling. Category:Characters Category:Neutral Category:Evil Category:Elves Category:Daemons Category:Tier 7